A Little More Heart
by Laura Schiller
Summary: A D/7 shipper's rewrite of "Human Error" and "Renaissance Man". What if the Doctor had gotten through to Seven earlier about removing the Borg failsafe device? And how much did the Chakotay hologram have in common with the real man, anyway? Requested by Acorntree144.
1. Chapter 1

A Little More Heart

By Laura Schiller

Based on _Star Trek: Voyager_

Copyright: Paramount

" _Put a little more heart into the piece. More of yourself."_

Those words replayed in Seven's mind for days, catching her off-guard at the most unlikely moments: in Astrometrics while trying to chart a course through the subspace mines, in the mess hall, in her alcove just before regeneration.

She remembered that rush of fear, frustration and delight when the holographic Chakotay had stopped the metronome. When he had told her to let her emotions, not just her technique, guide her playing. When he had smiled at her, such a beautiful warm smile, as the laboriously practiced Liszt etude had flowed from her fingertips like water.

Before that, the program had been pleasant. Missing Axum and Unimatrix Zero, she had chosen the colleague who resembled him most – tall, strong, quiet, a leader in an underground resistance movement – and it had worked out very well. She liked being kissed and complimented, and as for the awkward silences, she supposed they came with the territory.

It was not until that piano evening that she began to wonder if she was in trouble. She couldn't afford to care this much for a simulation.

 _A little more heart_ … it sounded so familiar. Where had she heard that before?

"What will you have, Seven?"

Neelix's cheerful voice shook her out of her thoughts. She eyed the steaming vats of alien food, her eyes already watering from the spices, uncomfortably conscious of the people lined up behind her.

She pointed at random, and sighed inaudibly with relief as Neelix handed out some more or less familiar-looking meatballs and noodles.

"Got any of that bean stew left?" asked the next person in line.

Commander Chakotay. The real one.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry, Commander," said Neelix. "I'm all out. I should have remembered you don't like meat."

"That's okay," said Chakotay. "I'll just replicate something. Hello, Seven. Care to join me?"

She nodded stiffly and followed him to the replicator, still processing this new data.

"You are a vegetarian?"

"It's a personal choice," he said, a little defensive, making her realize how sharp her question had sounded. "I don't try to tell anyone else what to eat. It's just that eating meat reminds me of when my father used to take me hunting. I … didn't like it. Computer, one serving of vegetarian chili."

Remembering how much his counterpart had savored that rack of lamb was almost comical to think of.

Seven liked meat. She didn't see any reason to feel guilty if it was replicated, and she found it much more palatable than all the supplements she would have to take otherwise. Borg implants and nanoprobes drained away a lot of her body's resources.

How could she not have known this about Chakotay? It was a minor detail, of course, but still – if she was wrong about this, what else was she wrong about?

"Commander, do you enjoy classical music?" she blurted out as they settled on opposite sides of a four-person table.

"Um … not much for music in general, to be honest. I have a tin ear. The Captain likes it, though. She puts it on during our executive meetings sometimes, and it's starting to grow on me … a little."

"Do you have a favorite composer?"

"A few, although I can't recall any of their names at the moment." He smiled a little, as if at a private memory.

It couldn't be that important to him, then.

"I hear the Doctor's giving you music lessons. Do you enjoy that?" he asked, trying to guess the reason for her strange line of questioning.

The Doctor. She bit back a wave of mingled guilt and annoyance. His fussing about her health had been getting on her last nerve lately, all the more so because he was right. First he'd enlisted Icheb to relieve her of duty two hours early so she could rest, then she'd snuck away to the holodeck instead, which would only worry him more the next time he scanned her. But did he worry about her as a friend, or simply as a doctor? How much of his compassion and care was simply due to his Hippocratic Oath programming? He had been so quick to leave her, after all, to join that holographic rebel leader on the Hirogen ship. He hadn't even said goodbye.

 _My personal life is none of your concern!_

 _I wasn't aware you had a personal life_.

How could they have said such things, when the closest thing they both had to a personal life was their music nights? What did he consider all their duets, if not personal? Did he care about her at all, or was she nothing but a duty?

Dealing with the Chakotay simulation was so much easier.

She forced herself back to the present moment. The real Chakotay had asked whether she liked her music lessons.

"Yes."

"Are you going to play at the next talent show?"

"Perhaps."

 _I'd love to hear you,_ the holographic Chakotay had said, his deep voice hushed with awe, sitting so close on the piano bench that she could feel him breathe.

"I'd like to hear that," said the real man, with a calm politeness that melted away into joy when he spotted someone over her shoulder.

"Captain, I'd glad you could join us." Chakotay made as if to stand up. "Haven't seen you around in a while."

"As you were." Captain Janeway grinned and waved him back into his seat. "My ready room was getting stuffy."

"Seven and I were just talking about classical music. What was the name of that composer you like – you know, that piece you played the night before we tried the quantum slipstream drive?"

"Ugh, the quantum slipstream drive. Don't remind me!" The Captain rolled her eyes and laughed. "But the vegetable biryani was nice, I must admit. For once, that ornery old replicator of mine behaved itself."

"And the music?"

"Brahms, of course."

"Brahms. How could I forget?"

Not Liszt. Not Chopin.

Seven poked at her spaghetti, having suddenly lost her appetite. She could have coped with minor inaccuracies in her holoprogram, but what hurt her most was the one thing she had gotten right.

That loving smile. The one he was giving Kathryn Janeway this very moment.

How could Seven not have noticed that in the past three years?

"How are you doing, Seven?" asked the Captain, with the wary concern of a mother dealing with a troubled teenager. Evidently, the dressing-down she had given her protégée about negligence of duty had not been forgotten. "How's your … research? A new gravimetric array, I think you said?"

Seven clenched her fists under the table. The Captain knew perfectly well there was no gravimetric array. Serve her right for being so foolish, and then lying to cover it up.

"My experiment failed. I prefer not to discuss it."

The Captain reached over and patted her hand, and the compassion in that touch was almost too much to bear.

"Think of it as a learning experience."

"I will, Captain."

She shoveled down her food with machine-like efficiency, not saying another word, until it was finally time to get back to Astrometrics.


	2. Chapter 2

The logical course of action would have been to delete the program, but for once, logic deserted her. She could not bear to delete it until she had made absolutely certain of her feelings. Whom did she love – Chakotay, the Doctor, or a figment of her own imagination?

She knew her answer the second he walked in.

He was carrying a food tray and a vase of Antarean moon blossoms, cheerfully boasting about how he had smuggled them past Neelix. His bravado, his mischievous grin, and most of all, that hopeful look in his eyes as he handed her the bouquet, reminded her instantly of the Doctor. When she had been in Sickbay due to her broken cortical node, the Doctor had placed Neelix's get-well-soon flowers in front of her with just that look. Then he'd tricked her into a game of _kadis-kot_ and she'd rolled her eyes at him, annoyance a safe distraction from panic over her impending death.

But she had lived, thanks to the Doctor's skills and Icheb's sacrifice, and it was up to her to use her new life well.

"I called you here to … thank you," she told the holographic Chakotay. "The past few days have been … memorable."

She had no idea how to break up with someone, but her body language must have spoken for her, because his face fell.

"You're ending this?"

"My 'personal life' has become a distraction."

"It's _supposed_ to be a distraction!" The real Chakotay never raised his voice like that, never wore his emotions so clearly on his face. Or perhaps if he did, it was only alone with the Captain. "You're making a mistake!"

"No, I am trying to correct one."

She turned her back on him, finding it disconcerting to argue with this strange amalgam of two men she had created.

"Don't you see what's happening here? Every time you come close to experiencing real emotion, you back away. Like hiding behind that metronome."

"Your analogy is flawed."

But she knew it wasn't. This was an argument she'd had with the Doctor dozens of times – about music, about crew parties, about anything, but really, it was always about individuality. He was always challenging her to step out of her comfort zone, try something new, join the community instead of standing apart. If he ever used a metronome during their piano lessons – which he didn't, because perfect timing was part of his programming – he would have switched it off for her too.

 _Put a little more heart into it._

Now she remembered. It was the Doctor who had told her that, during their very first music lesson two years ago, singing "You Are My Sunshine". He had proceeded to demonstrate, in the most absurd way possible, so that anyone but a former Borg drone would have burst out laughing.

Then they had sung the piece together. It had been beautiful.

Pain stabbed through her head like a hot needle, and she swayed on her feet.

"I cannot function this way!" Not here. Not now. She could _not_ have any more Borg components breaking down.

"You're not a drone anymore, you're _human!_ "

The hologram swung her around to face him and shook her, only a little, but still enough to make her head throb viciously. There was a high, mechanical whirring in her ears, giving contrary evidence to his argument. She could barely make out his next words through it.

Her cortical node was failing - again. She was still a drone and always would be. She had no right to love anyone.

"Sickbay," she muttered into her commbadge. "Medical emergency."

Then she crumpled to the floor.

Before losing consciousness, she thought she heard Chakotay and the Doctor having a terse discussion over her head, followed by a "Computer, end program", and a hand stroking her hair.

But that might have just been her imagination.

/

"What exactly were you doing in there?" asked the Doctor, as soon as he had restored her to consciousness and performed a temporary fix on her cortical node.

Of course he saw through her lie about "research" at once, and unlike the Captain, didn't hesitate to call her out on it.

"I couldn't help but notice you'd created some quarters for yourself. A new dress … dinner for two … "

He paced around the room, clearly uncomfortable, as if seeing her in anything but her exosuit was the greatest anomaly in the Delta Quadrant, even though he had designed a whole line of clothing for their social lessons once.

That reminded her of Lieutenant Torres' reaction to her belated baby shower gift. _"Was that Seven of Nine?"_ the engineer had exclaimed behind Seven's back, forgetting the range of her Borg-enhanced hearing, and Ensign Kim had cracked a joke about alien intruders. Were they going to react like this every time she did something even slightly unusual?

She told him the truth, forcing the words out with deep reluctance, unable to look him in the eye.

"Well … this is encouraging. You might be ready to pursue deeper relationships. I'm proud of you, Seven."

"Your pride is misplaced," she snapped.

She didn't want him to be proud; she didn't want him to act like a mentor. If he cared about her as anything but a student, he could never react so calmly to the news that she had written a holo-romance about another man … not to mention making herself ill, and letting _Voyager_ nearly explode in the process.

"I take it Commander Chakotay is your … romantic interest?"

"He has many admirable qualities." _But he is not you._

Instead of telling her the Commander didn't seem like her type, or asking her what qualities she meant, or even pointing out how borderline inappropriate it was to make a copy of the ship's First Officer for intimate purposes, all he did was commend her taste in interior design.

"Your quarters … they suited you."

She left Sickbay feeling more alone than she had after being severed from the Collective.

Though if she could have seen the look in the Doctor's eyes, as he dropped into a chair and ordered the computer to play "Someone To Watch Over Me", she might have changed her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

"Heartburn, Commander? Let me guess - Mr. Neelix has been giving cooking lessons again."

"It's not his fault." Chakotay shrugged ruefully as the Doctor put down his tricorder. "I used to love spicy food. I keep forgetting how much it disagrees with me as I get older."

"Well, perhaps this will serve as a reminder. Please hold still." Chakotay made a face at the hiss of the hypospray against his neck.

"Thanks." The Commander eased himself off the biobed, trying to appear stoic in spite of the Talaxian tofu churning inside him. "I can't make any promises, though. It was a great evening. Lots of wild stories about our Maquis days and Neelix's time as a junk trader."

"That does sound interesting," said the Doctor, but not quite as sincerely as usual.

He stared past Chakotay at the double doors. His internal chronometer told him that his next patient should be arriving in a few seconds. She was as particular about time as he was. What could be keeping her?

The doors hissed open, and Seven of Nine walked in.

She stopped in mid-stride when she saw Chakotay, and greeted both men with a stiff, awkward nod that recalled her earliest days on board.

"Doctor, I am reporting for my appointment. Commander, are you unwell?"

"Nothing serious. Just the aftereffects of Talaxian tofu." Chakotay patted his stomach and tried not to wince. "I told you earlier, you should have been there."

He'd invited her? To a social event? She was keeping her head down, which was unusual for her, and wasn't Chakotay looking at her a little more closely than he had before? They were both so introverted, it was hard to read them, but they did look rather handsome together. The Doctor busied himself with his instrument tray, trying very hard not to be jealous.

"I was busy." Seven's voice was as neutral as the computer's. "Perhaps another time. I hope you will recover shortly."

"Thanks. Your Astrometrics report is due tomorrow, don't forget."

"Yes, Commander."

She shot a brief glance at Chakotay's broad shoulders as he walked out the door. The Doctor, confirmed romantic that he was, couldn't help imagining what she must be thinking. Did she feel the same way right now that he so often felt around her?

One of them, at least, should have the chance to be happy.

 _For God's sake, Doctor, concentrate. She's here for a medical appointment._

He picked up his tricorder. As soon as he had it in his hand, all his private, off-duty subroutines faded into the background and his medical programming took over. For the next hour, he focused on nothing but realigning Seven's biradial clamp, the faulty Borg implant in her shoulder that she had put off repairing until now.

But when the procedure was over and the tricorder back in its tray, it all came rushing back.

"For the last time, Seven," he made himself say, "I wish you'd reconsider your decision about that failsafe device."

"For the last time, Doctor, I will not."

"He's single, you know. The Commander. And he's a good man. You never know what might happen if you don't try."

"I am not in love with Commander Chakotay. It was an experiment, nothing more."

But, knowing her, she might say exactly the same thing if she did love him. In any case, the Doctor was inclined to believe the scientific evidence. He had seen literal sparks shooting along her ocular implant. Whatever emotion the Chakotay hologram had triggered in her, it had been strong enough to knock her out on the cold holodeck floor.

He never wanted to see her in that state again. His self-control, already wearing thin, suddenly snapped.

"You really think ignoring your feelings will make them go away? You think love can't hurt if you if it's only one-sided? I'm telling you, you're wrong. Living day by day with someone you love, you can't escape it. It always catches up with you, and it should, because you're human. That's only natural. What's unnatural is that thing inside your brain, and if you continue like this, _it will kill you_. We almost lost you earlier this year, it can't happen again. By all that's sacred, Seven, just let me help."

She gave him a long look, her blue eyes so intense, he forgot to breathe. She seemed on the verge of saying something. Damn, now he'd put his foot in it. If she asked him how he knew so much about one-sided love, how could he possibly answer?

But then she looked away, and her next words came in a distant, preoccupied tone, as if her thoughts were already running ahead into the future.

"You told me it would be a time-consuming series of surgeries, and that recovery was uncertain … "

She was thinking about it. The relief of even that conditional answer made his head spin.

"I've been doing some research." (He had, in fact, remained online for the past four nights, neglecting music, photography and all his other favorite pastimes, to pore over _Voyager's_ database and the latest Starfleet Medical journals sent through the Midas Array.) "I believe I can combine it into a single procedure. We'd still need to set aside a few days for you to adapt – a week, to be safe – but Icheb can cover for you in Astrometrics, he's learning so fast. I guarantee you, we won't proceed until it's as safe as I can make it. Do I have your permission?"

Those blue eyes met his, and this time he could read them clearly. She was afraid, but she trusted him.

"You have my permission."

/

After the operation, it took a while for her to adapt.

The first few days she spent in Sickbay, fading in and out of consciousness, drinking her nutritional supplements, listening to music, and slowly decreasing the dosage of her painkillers. It wasn't until she returned to duty that she realized the full effect of the failsafe device being gone.

She had expected her emotions to be stronger, but that was not the case. (Anything stronger than the traumas she had already gone through might have broken her.) They were more varied, more nuanced. It reminded her of the way her eyesight had changed after being severed from the Collective, enabling her to suddenly see every color, instead of only shades of green.

She found herself smiling more, and electrified Paris and Kim by laughing out loud at one of their jokes. They were so proud of themselves, they wouldn't leave her alone for days, until she snapped at them to stop their irrelevant behavior. Kim apologized sheepishly, while Paris punched her on the shoulder and said, _"Now there's our Seven. Welcome back!"_

Certain foods made her nostalgic. She avoided strawberries at first, because they took her back to her Aunt Irene's sunny living room faster than any transporter could. Then, ashamed of her cowardice, she ate a bowlful of them in private, flavored with tears as well as sugar. When face-to-face communication with Earth became possible a few days later, she ended up talking to Irene as if their last meeting had been only yesterday.

Music had a similar effect. She sometimes listened to it with earbuds on while filling out her reports, but whenever certain jazz or classical pieces came up, her hands froze on the PADD and she couldn't type another word until they were over.

She knew she looked up to the senior crew, but now she could distinguish more clearly between her thoughts about Captain Janeway (mother, captor, role model, challenger) and Commander Tuvok (quiet refuge, steady source of strength). She knew she felt protective of the two children on board, but not quite in the same way: Naomi was younger and more innocent, while Icheb was a colleague and fellow ex-Borg who could talk to her almost on the same level.

As for Commander Chakotay, she liked him. He was a competent leader and a calm, relaxing person to be around. And, yes, there was the odd flash of physical attraction when she remembered how his fictional counterpart had kissed her. But nothing more.

But it was the Doctor, more than anyone, who made her poignantly aware of how much she was changing.

At first she relied on him, with the simple trust of a patient for a physician. He was always there with a meal, a hypospray, an arm to lean on, a tricorder measuring her recovery, a song to pass the time, or just a few kind words. Then, as usual, the better she felt, the more restless she got underneath the diagnostic arch, and the more they argued until he cleared her for duty. This much was familiar to her.

But afterwards, when the medical side of things took second place, she was at a loss. Scheduling expert though she was, it became almost impossible to agree on a time for their music nights. Was she avoiding him, or was he avoiding her?

She missed him ferociously, but talking about it would have meant admitting something was wrong.

/

The Doctor had often wished, in the back of his mind, for the chance to push his limits and prove his superiority as a hologram.

When a couple of ex-Hierarchy pirates kidnapped him and Captain Janeway, held her hostage, and forced him to impersonate her in order to steal _Voyager's_ warp core, he got his wish – and regretted it.

After three false identities, a crossfire of suspicious questions from the crew, a surreal shipwide chase by Tuvok, a harsh (and justified) reprimand from the Captain he'd disobeyed and failed to save, and finally several teraquads of new data overloading his systems, the Doctor had reached his breaking point.

He was losing control of his body. He flickered from one face and voice to the next. Even his thoughts were scrambled, schematics of buildings he'd never been to on the Hierarchy's homeworld tangled up with ECH command protocols, medical data and other things he couldn't even identify. For a few moments, he couldn't remember who he was: a Hierarchy overseer, a doctor, an engineer, a starship captain …

Seven would have been through worse than this while under the influence of the Borg Vinculum. How had she survived that? Among all the shipmates gathered around him on the holodeck, his eyes kept returning to her.

Somewhere among his many selves was Father Mulligan of Fair Haven, whose faith must have influenced him more than he realized.

If he was going to die, he needed to confess.

But his sins, like everything else in his head, were absurdly mixed together. He found himself apologizing to Ensign Kim for a quip about his clarinet playing with more fervor than he showed to Tuvok for violating doctor-patient confidentiality. He didn't know what would come out of his mouth next. No one showed any sign of forgiveness, or even comprehension; they were staring at him as if he'd gone insane.

He headed for the console, where Seven was trying to purge his excess data. He took in every detail of her face, her eyes narrowed at the screen, her lips tight with concentration, the steel web on one hand glittering as her fingers flew across the keys.

In all the confusion, she was his one point of clarity.

"You should remain still," she said without looking at him, her voice sharp with worry. This told him more than anything else how much danger he was in.

"Seven. You have no idea how hard it's been for me, hiding my true feelings over the years. Averting my eyes during your regular maintenance exams … " _Oh for God's sake, shut up, before you sound any creepier._ "I know you could never feel the same, but I love you, Seven."

He dropped to his knees.

 _That_ made her look up. Her mouth fell open. Her eyes widened.

"Your cognitive algorithms are malfunctioning," she said.

This was exactly why he hadn't told her earlier. He had dreaded seeing her react like this. The shock on her face would have been funny at any other time, but he didn't feel like laughing.

Not that it mattered now. He was beginning to flicker. How many seconds did he have left? What was it he still needed to say? Oh yes.

"Be happy. You have the chance now. Find someone who will love you the way you deserve."

He stood back up and raised his hand in farewell, trying clumsily to end the scene with a bit of dignity, even though he could see that the crew were gawking at him like spectators at a very strange play.

"Goodbye, my friends. Speak well of me."

He squeezed his eyes shut, disappeared into cybernetic oblivion …

… and came back, frozen in the same pose, staring into faces that were now undeniably amused.

All the other faces and voices were gone. He was safe. Which meant he had made that entire speech for nothing.

Seven kept her eyes on her screen, looking equal parts relieved and furious. He couldn't blame her for the latter. What must she think of him now?

The Doctor knew it was impossible for anyone, organic or photonic, to die of embarrassment. But if ever anyone came close, in those few seconds it was him.


	4. Chapter 4

For Seven, one of the more challenging side effects of having full access to her emotions was that it became harder to hide things – from other people, and especially from yourself.

She knew exactly why she was crouching in a Jefferies tube off Level Two in Engineering, up to her elbows in tangled wires, and it wasn't because they needed untangling. Her back and knees ached from crawling through the bowels of the ship, her non-enhanced eye was watery from squinting at small screens, and she was hungry. But if she could straighten out some of the disorder on the ship, it might help the disorder inside her head as well.

"Hey!" Lieutenant Torres banged on the closed hatch with her fist. "Whoever's in there? Shift's over. Time to go."

"Permission to complete my task, Lieutenant?" She had been snapped at often enough for not deferring to Starfleet protocol that she took no chances with it now.

"Seven, is that you?"

B'Elanna opened the hatch, stuck her head in, and hissed, sucking in air through her teeth. Though it sounded hostile, Seven knew it was meant to convey sympathy, which made her wonder what kind of state she must be in. Her exosuit had certainly picked up a few smudges, and her hair was coming out of its twist. What else was B'Elanna seeing?

"Permission denied," said the Chief Engineer. "Get out of there, you should've left hours ago. Did you even have lunch?"

"No."

"Well, come and have dinner, then, if the mess hall's still open. And while you're at it, you can tell me what's wrong. Or we can talk about the state of the warp core, if you prefer."

"Clarify," said Seven, scrambling out the hatch rather less gracefully than usual, and swaying on her feet when she reached the floor.

B'Elanna caught her by the elbow to steady her. "Some people drink or eat too much when they're under stress. You and I, we fix things."

Seven did not dispute this as she walked alongside the Chief Engineer to the turbolift.

She knew by now that B'Elanna had more tact than she was given credit for, ever since the time she had once allowed a severely ill Seven to make herself useful instead of packing her off to Sickbay. They'd had a thoughtful conversation about life, death and legacies that Seven would always remember. Once again, she was grateful for B'Elanna's silent, unfussy understanding as the turbolift hummed steadily toward the mess hall.

They were caught by a stream of gamma shift workers going in the opposite direction, and had to squeeze along the walls to avoid being bumped into, which given B'Elanna's pregnancy, was no easy task. By the time the two women arrived, they found Neelix's inventory almost empty for the day.

B'Elanna swore under her breath, but Seven scooped up the last few bruised Norcadian pears as if they were Omega particles. She couldn't remember feeling so hungry in her life – but then, it wasn't only food she was hungry for. Had the Doctor felt this way while polishing off that cheesecake?

Strange, how emotions sometimes came in layers, each one stronger and more incomprehensible than the one before.

"Good gracious, you two! Working at this hour - again?" Neelix scolded them good-naturedly from behind his counter. "That's not healthy, you know, especially for your baby, Lieutenant."

"We're just finishing up," said B'Elanna, with a rather forced smile that implied how tired she was of hearing things like that.

"Well, don't let the Doctor catch you getting low on sleep." He grinned. "I won't tell him if you won't, though his tricorder will probably pick it up anyway."

The look on Seven's face must have been very expressive. Neelix yelped, dropped his dishcloth, and dived under the counter to retrieve it.

"It's the Doctor you're upset about, right?" asked B'Elanna, as soon as they had found a table far enough away that their well-meaning Morale Officer wouldn't interrupt.

Denial was futile. "Yes."

B'Elanna waited while Seven tore into her first sweet, juicy pear, then started in on the second. By the time she was eating slowly enough to talk between bites, and wiping the juice from her chin with a napkin in a clumsy effort to remember her etiquette lessons, the engineer asked: "Why? Because he's in love with you?"

"Is he?" Seven replied bitterly; the same question had been churning inside her mind all day. "Or were those words the result of a malfunction?"

"Seven, you know he is. Didn't you see that stupid holonovel of his last month? He showed the rest of us as crooks and you as some kind of angel. Although red hair doesn't really suit you. Anyway, I thought telling you how he felt was pretty damn brave."

"It would have been _brave_ to tell me at a more appropriate time. Waiting until yesterday was simply foolish."

"Really?" B'Elanna nibbled something that resembled a purple banana, frowned at it, and shook her head. "The way we live on this ship, is there any such thing as an appropriate time?"

"Stardate 52648.0."

"Whoa." B'Elanna's eyebrows shot up, almost touching her forehead ridges. "That's awfully precise, even for you. About two years ago, was it? What happened that day?"

" _Love Amid The Stars._ " Seeing B'Elanna's confusion turn to downright alarm, Seven clarified: "A set of social lessons the Doctor gave me about romance. I have you to thank for that, Lieutenant. If you had not threatened to break my nose for spying on you and Lieutenant Paris, no one on board would have even thought to connect me with the idea of romance."

They shared a wry smile at the memory of their confrontation in this very room.

"So wait," B'Elanna said, still incredulous. "The Doctor _taught_ you about romance? How did that even work?"

"Badly." Seven caught herself smirking.

Much as she appreciated the sincere effort he'd poured into those lessons, she had to admit that they hadn't worked. The same methods that had sufficed for teaching basic etiquette – when to say please and thank you, how to talk to someone without interrupting, how to handle Starfleet protocol without compromising efficiency – simply weren't enough for the more complicated aspects of human relationships. Or perhaps some things were impossible to learn at second hand, and needed to be experienced instead.

"He made a presentation on the sociology of courtship rituals, we roleplayed a few highly formalized encounters at Sandrine's … "

She decided not to mention William Chapman, for his own sake as much as hers. The Chief Engineer didn't need to know how one of her subordinates had landed in Sickbay after Seven's failed attempt to dance with him.

The Doctor had been right there to patch Chapman up and to reassure her. _Just because you didn't achieve perfection your first time out, doesn't mean you should give up._ It was advice she still cherished, though she found it very hard to follow.

"I disliked the artificial quality of the process as he described it," she admitted to B'Elanna, "But even while I was telling him so, I realized … the man he wanted me to look for was already sitting next to me. Someone who did not fear my Borg traits, who made me feel better when I was unhappy, someone I could talk to without pretense … "

 _I prefer the way you and I communicate. We say what we mean, simply, directly._

 _But you and I are colleagues. We're not pursuing a romantic relationship._

 _No … we are not._

Looking back, the silence of that moment spoke volumes. Why had neither of them dared to say anything? Two years wasted on pretending; so much for being direct. It made her want to march right into Sickbay and shake him by the collar, despite – or because – half the fault was hers.

 _Well, the evening doesn't have to end as a total loss, anyway. Why don't we skip to Lesson 35: "Shall We Dance?"_

She still couldn't believe how one of the most humiliating evenings of her life had ended as one of the happiest. She could still feel the glow of the fireplace, the Doctor's tweed jacket under her fingers, his cheek against hers, and the feeling of complete trust as he led her around the polished floor.

" … and then he taught me how to waltz."

"I can imagine." B'Elanna smiled. "My Tom doesn't dance, but during _bat'leth_ practice sometimes – when he makes a move and I know exactly how to counter it, and everything just falls into place … "

"Precisely."

They sighed at almost the same time, a wistful sound none of their colleagues in Engineering would have recognized. But then B'Elanna's face clouded over; she frowned and bit off a chunk of her purple banana.

"We've been married for a year now, and together for four. We're having a baby, for Kahless' sake. You'd think my husband would knowwhen someone was impersonating me. But you know what he said? He said I'm so unpredictable at this stage," patting her baby bump, "That it's no wonder he couldn't tell!"

She had to be referring to the Doctor's attempts to ransom the Captain by stealing the warp core. He had knocked out and impersonated three senior officers at the same time, an incredible achievement if you thought about it, considering the pressure he must have been under. Of course, as the Chief Engineer he would have had easy access to Engineering.

"Is that _your_ reason for working overtime tonight?" asked Seven, thinking of B'Elanna's earlier remark about signs of stress.

"Eh, it's better for us to stay out of each other's hair sometimes." She finished the banana and grimaced in distaste. "We'd only end up yelling, and that doesn't help."

"Avoiding each other does not seem helpful either."

"Hey!" B'Elanna threw the empty peel at Seven, who ducked neatly, so that it landed on the floor. Neelix went to pick it up, making sounds of disapproval they pretended not to hear.

"Pots and kettles, Seven. Did the Doctor ever teach you that expression?"

"Apologies, Lieutenant. You are correct."

"Hmph. I hate to admit it, but so are you. Poor Tom's had a lot to put up with from me over the past few months … more than usual, I mean. He's been trying so hard to hard to spend some quality time with me before the baby comes, and I keep backing out. Which is the same thing the Doc did in my place, so really, why should I get mad?"

B'Elanna rubbed both hands over her face in fatigue and frustration. "Wonder if this is how Tom felt when that body-snatching alien impersonated _him?_ I didn't notice either, back then. I guess we're not the most observant people, outside of our jobs."

"You are not the only ones."

Two years. Perhaps longer than that. If the Doctor had loved Seven all this time, how could she not have noticed? Her perfect memory, another mixed blessing from the Collective, showed her one moment after another that she could now see in an entirely new light. Gentle hands pulling the pins out of her hair. A sudden silence in the middle of a duet. The Doctor turning his face away as he called Axum _a lucky man._ Shouting at each other in the brig of an alien ship about his lack of self-control and her inability to understand desire.

Well, she understood it now, and he had more control than she'd given him credit for. He had pleaded with her to remove the failsafe, all the while believing that it would set her free for another man. If she had chosen to go after Chakotay, the Doctor would have let it happen without a word of protest, only to see her happy.

It sounded like the plot of one of his beloved operas. Just as noble, and just as silly.

"Holy crap, you _are_ in love," said B'Elanna. "You look like someone just whacked you over the head."

"Crude, yet vivid, as always." Seven shook her head to clear the haze of emotion. "But what should I do? I did not perceive his feelings for years because he always treated me as his student. Can we have an equal relationship if he keeps to that role?"

"So go and set him straight. He may look like a forty-year-old man, but don't forget he's actually younger than you. And not much more experienced, either, as far as I know."

"I will speak to the Doctor if you will speak to Mr. Paris."

"You're on."

They got up to drop the seeds and shells that remained of their meal into the compost bin. Neelix beamed like a whiskery sunrise at his last customers as he wished them a good night.


	5. Chapter 5

The next ship's morning found the Doctor at his desk, unnecessarily rewriting a report for the third time and almost wishing for a new crisis to take him out of his own thoughts.

He couldn't even distract himself on the holodeck, since the Captain had confiscated his mobile emitter. He had disobeyed her direct orders, after all. As a Starfleet officer (even if he'd never actually chosen the job), by rights he should have placed the ship's safety above one person's, even if that person was the captain and his friend. But as someone programmed to uphold the sanctity of life, could he really have allowed the pirates to kill Kathryn?

Either way, there had been no real solution to the problem. He was lucky they had all gotten out alive.

But if he could delete the memory of Seven's appalled expression, he would.

He must have stared at the doors a million times over the past four years, waiting for her, whether because she had an appointment, or because he just wanted to see her. But it had to be now, when he almost dreaded meeting those sharp blue eyes of hers, that she suddenly walked in.

He noticed instantly that her color was very high, and there was something different about the way she moved. Her hands hung loose at her sides instead of being clasped behind her back, and her hips swayed a little as she walked; not provocatively, but more like a woman than a drone. Some tight spring of self-control inside her seemed to have been released. Perhaps this was only the next step in the change that had been slowly taking place since the removal of the failsafe – or perhaps …

 _Don't tell me this is about Commander Chakotay._

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency," was all he could think of to say.

"I wish to cancel our social lessons," said Seven, briskly as always, but with the startling hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "Indefinitely."

"Yes, well … " He made a pitiful attempt at sounding casual. "I can see how continuing them might not be the best idea."

If it really was Chakotay who had wrought this transformation, if they were a couple now, it would make perfect sense if she preferred not to spend too much time alone with a foolish hologram who was in love with her. Maybe Lieutenant Paris could even take over her medical care from now on.

He was about to ask her if his theory was true, but before he could say a word, she put both hands on his desk and leaned forward, so that their faces were only inches apart.

"When I first came aboard, you were my teacher," she said, her blue eyes brighter than the sky of any planet he could imagine. "I will always be grateful for your guidance then. But from now on, Doctor, I would rather learn _with_ you than _from_ you. I want to learn about love … together."

"Seven, what are you saying?" he whispered, so filled with hope it was almost painful. "I thought … I mean, it was Commander Chakotay who set off the failsafe."

"That character was no more Commander Chakotay than I am Three of Eight from your holonovel. His best qualities were the ones that reminded me of someone else."

"And who is that?"

But he had a delightful idea of who it might be, and her smile confirmed it.

"Someone who brings me flowers when I have not asked for them. Someone who speaks to me through music as if it were our personal code. Someone who never allows me to hide from my problems, but always insists on confronting them. Someone who adds "a little more heart" to my life."

"Our first duet." He rose to his feet and circled the desk, so that they were face to face. "You remember that?"

"Of course. Stardate 52648.0, Cargo Bay Two. "You Are My Sunshine.""

"And you're mine."

He could hardly believe she was real, standing there with the familiar fluorescent lights striking a glow from her golden hair. But when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she was as warm and solid as could be. He could feel her pulse quicken, her temperature rise. He could have calculated the exact results, but instead he gave himself up to the sensations.

What a strange and lovely paradox they were, he thought. Both of them part machine, and yet never more human than in each other's arms.

"Hey, guys. Should I come back later?" an amused Tom Paris interrupted.

Seven gave the intruder a triumphant smile, while the Doctor drew himself up and tried - unsuccessfully - to glare.

"Really, Lieutenant, hasn't anyone told you that being too early for work is in almost as poor taste as being late?"

"You know, I've always been kind of sorry about that bet we made," said Tom. "It was a stupid joke, really. I never meant for anyone's feelings to get involved ... but isn't it lucky they did?"

"Well, if you want to make it up to me, Mr. Paris, you can always take over Sickbay for the day."

"Darn. I walked right into that one, didn't I? Oh, well. Anything for love."

Paris strolled over to the desk chair which the Doctor had vacated, plopped down into it, and put his feet up on the desk. The Doctor was too happy even to scold him as he watched Seven's elegant hands dance across the console keyboard. Since the Captain still had the mobile emitter, it was up to her to transfer him to the holodeck. He wondered which program she had chosen - Sandrine's? The Paxau Resort? Fair Haven? - but in the end, it wouldn't much matter. Romance, he had learned, was about more than just the surface of things. Anywhere she was, even this Sickbay, would always be a romantic place to him.

Although a comfortable bed would no doubt be an asset.

"Oh, and Seven?" were Tom's parting words. "B'Elanna says _Qapla'._ "

The medic saluted them jauntily as they left the room in a shimmer of light.

/

 _Author's Note: This story was requested by Acorntree144, and inspired by her beautifully intricate D/7 fan videos on YouTube. You can find her there under the name Camelot836. One video in particular corresponds to this story: "Doctor/Seven/Chakotay - When I'm with him I am thinking of you."_


End file.
